Thursday, June 30, 2011

You were WHERE? Doing WHAT? Really????

And just like that... I found myself hard at work in a small town corner store. Working the register, doing quick mental math, restocking beverages, chatting it up with the locals, and loving every moment of it.

So how did I get stuck in San Carlos? Let’s just say I’m a sucker for small town enthusiastic hospitality.

It all started when I pulled up and parked Tioca outside Despensa Miriam, across from the main plaza. I pulled out my thermos, my wallet, and bike lock. When I pushed through the door, they were all waiting for me. From the meat guys to the woman at cash register, from the customers to the little girl who stuck her tongue out at me (which I returned, of course). I was greeted with untethered enthusiasm. I was asked a million questions and given more than two earfuls of advice. Suddenly I was a celebrity.

I cooked up some soup on the stove in the back of the store, which I proceeded to eat with some pan casero in the plaza. Pablo, selling cds, asked for some mate. I offered him what was left of my soup. As he ate, he ranted his life philosophy at me. Vaguely similar to my own. To paraphrase: Live life. Now.

He ranted and paced the sidewalk. He gave me some advice, the best of luck, and a mix cd of Argentine rock. He was pure energy, of the ungraspable kind. A definite personality.

The guys in the Despensa let me unload my bike in a bare storage room above their store. They said I could stay there if I wanted. Amazing. I accepted.

With a lighter bike, I went for a ride. The sun had finally decided to dodge the clouds. I got sunburnt. I passed vineyards, farm houses, pomegranate trees. And suddenly everything in the world made perfect sense.

I love the people in this town. Such energy. Such friendliness. I’m blown away. Everyone wants to help, but it’s not because they expect something in return. It’s because they truly want to help you. It’s hardwired into them. I love it.

When I came back from my bike ride, Carlitos and Fabi threw me headfirst into the business. Soon I was selling bread and aspirin, sugary sodas and meat, mayonnaise and cigarettes. I performed my work with all of my ability. I showed off quick mental calculations. I served mates. I lifted heavy boxes. I small talked with the costumers. And I had a marvelous time.

That night, they invited me out. But it was already 1am when they were leaving. I wished I had more energy; I would have loved to join. But I knew that if I went, I would be a moody zombie. So I decided to stay home. Next time, I promised.

And this time there was a next time. And it presented itself faster than I expected.

When I woke up, I went straight to work. The morning was a busy shift. I worked the register and the veggie section. I overcame my fear of the potatoes, but I’m still nervous about the cold cuts. I reorganized the crackers and served sweet mates. I was the only one who had gotten a full night’s sleep, so I took charge on mentally calculating customer change.

At two thirty I went with Carlitos to Walter’s birthday lunch at the farmhouse down the dirt road. I rode Mechanica, the horse, without a proper saddle. We walked around the field and I let my feet dangle and swing to the beat of the horse’s stride. Carliots told me about his life. Good people often have bad things happen to them. And Carlitos is a very good person.

I watched as they pulled a whole roasted pig out of the chulengo oven and snuck an empanada from the basket to munch on. When the food was ready, all 20something of us sat down at the table to eat. And eat. And eat!



We talked life philosophy. There were so many opinions. Everyone was curious. I guess I was a novelty. And my story is somewhat off the beaten path. We were so immersed in conversation that no one watched the River soccer game. And then they offered me wine. And birthday cake.

As the wine flowed, people got rowdy, conversation volume raised to the nearly shouting level, and the fireplace crackled along for the ride. Someone opened the Fernet and mixed a pitcher. Soon everyone’s face glowed rosy cheeks and laugher abounded.

The ambiance was warm. I felt comfortable among strangers. They clapped me on the back like they had known me my entire life. I taught the kids a card trick. They taught me one in return. I sipped my drink. And joked along with the circus.

Then the truco game began. Oh boy. It was an animate six-person game. We bluffed and maneuvered and commanded the game. Our team was unstoppable. No one could believe a Yanki could play truco.

And every good birthday party has a crazy drunk uncle. This one was no exception. Except, well, we all were a little tipsy. And a little more than a bit crazy. So we all just laughed.

Then the kids brought out the guitar. They handed me a sword and a hat. We ate some more. They tried to persuade me not to leave the next day. And I left to warm smiles and kind words. That evening I honestly loved these people with all my heart.


Through my international bicycle meandering, I’m subjecting myself to many new situations. I’m learning that there are many many good people out there. People who will take you in as a stranger and release you as a friend. People who will feed you, put a roof over your head, and wish the very best for you. Yes, there are very very good people out there. And it is my genuine pleasure to meet them, share moments with them, and leave with the taste of good memories.

I knew I wasn't going to stay forever in San Carlos, although the guys didn't want me to leave. So, after two nights in this beautiful hospitable town, I packed my bike, restocked some sodas, sold some tortitas and waved as I pedaled off.

Little did I know that around midnight that night I'd be riding on the cold, hard, encaged backseat of a police car.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

one small step for a trucker, one giant leap for a cyclist

Chos Malal has two fantastic parks, curious locals, a river, and large expanses of farmland surrounding the town. My trucker buddies took good care of me. They wouldn’t let me pay for anything. We talked about all sort of philosophies. I served mates. We ate a lot of chicken milanesas and tomato salads. And I helped them unload crates of veggies from the trucks, despite their protests.

Sergio was the truck driver who took me from Chos Malal passing 518 km to San Rafael. A journey that would have taken me about 10 days. We arrived in 8 hours. I was blown away.

I saw nothing of the landscape. It was dark. We drove though the night, passing small towns and a whole lot of starlight. I held a small celebration as we crossed into the Province of Mendoza. Constant bumping reggaeton was the trip’s soundtrack.

We arrived to San Rafael at 6 o’clock. AM. Sergio couldn’t enter the city with the truck, so I unloaded my things on a darkened street corner. It was cold. The city was deserted. I had no idea where I was. And I hadn’t slept all night.

I pedaled through the city, paying attention to the street signs and waving to the early morning street cleaners. I must have done a few kilometers before I reached Jeronimo’s house.

Jeronimo was my Couchsurfing host. We exchanged a few words upon my arrival. I unloaded my bike as he went back to sleep. Unfortunately I wasn’t so lucky; I had trouble sleeping due to auditory disturbances of the snoring variety.

The small apartment was my home for two more nights. On the second night courteous and respectful Yanette and Robert, from the Netherlands arrived to the already overcrowded overly cluttered apartment. I cooked a colorful zapallo relleno accompanied by pan con ajo. They were well received. We stayed up late getting acquainted with Fernet and boys vs. girls truco.

The next day had me hungover and maneuvering the washing machine. I walked around the city pondering life. I like San Rafael. It’s a short-building city with trees. It’s happily nestled in wine and olive oil country. The landscape is completely different than what I’ve been pedaling through up until now. It’s a different climate up here. It’s a different vibe. I love the land. But it’s the people I’m having a hard time figuring out.

It seems that people in San Rafael are unsatisfied. I get the impression that they are not completely happy. A tremendous generalization, I know, but it’s the feeling I get. From the angry man who cursed me from his car window to the bakery woman afraid to go outside. There’s something missing from their lives. There’s something not quite settled. There’s a lack of something… Perhaps that something is peace.

With every day that passes I’m changing my life concept. I am making sense of a lot of things. I’m very much at peace. I’m living my adventure. And I’m loving everything about it.

The last night, we added one more person to the apartment, Lee, the Korean backpacker. What a character.

I cooked up some milanesas de berengena with an ensalada de arroz. Robert whipped out the guitar and we stretched our vocal chords. It was a beautiful night.

The next morning Jeronimo was going to Mendoza, so we were all evicted. I loaded my stuff into his car and drove under the cloudy sky to a small town. I announced that I wanted to get out and ride. I unloaded my stuff. It was cold. Very cold. My face burned in the wind. My fingers were numb in my gloves. But I was happy to be back on the road.

The landscape is so different here. Lots of vineyards. Lots of small towns one right after the other. Many more houses. Many more cars. A very luxurious road shoulder for bikers.

I turned right at the GNC station and pulled into San Carlos. No relation to San Carlos de Bariloche. A small town. My intention was to eat lunch and keep going on to Tunuyán. My intention turned out to be easily persuaded. Good thing I’m flexible.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

small town, bigger town, and truckers

Heading out of Chorriaca there is an uphill. It’s of the short and steep variety. The kind that give you a good-morning slap in the face. The kind that kindly takes your breath away. The kind that looks like it’s coming to an end… and then keeps on going. The kind that thanks you and wishes you’ll come again soon.

But it’s short. And afterwards you are graced with perhaps the longest gentlest downhill looking out over a slightly foggy heaven of nature’s beauty. It may make you, like it did to me, want to laugh out loud. I yelled a wooooopie into the crisp air. I burst into song. My lips beamed joy right back at the morning sun.

That day I waved at every passing vehicle. There weren’t many. It was a holiday. Flag day.

I pedaled into Naunauco about 50 km later. I followed the handmade signs to a deserted school, a deserted radio station, and some deserted houses. Where are all the people?

After a little while of walking around and knocking on windows, a door opened. Santiago and his children Florencia (12) and Gonzalo (10) were taking care of the school. They invited me in and we shared some mate with jammed bread. It was a boarding school during the week and, since it was a holiday, bunkbeds were unoccupied. I chose one.

Hot water shower! A luxury. The electricity came from giant solar panels and had to be used sparingly. Gigantic gas stoves were at my disposal and I concocted a mushroom-textured soy-rice dish as we played rummy and watch Portuguese films. The kids talked my ear off from a neighboring bunkbed until well past my bedtime. The stars were brilliant and the third-quarter waning moon caught my eye. I saw two satelites whizzing through the dark sky before the cold got the better of me and rushed me inside.

The next morning was an early one. Teachers arrived well before the sun came up. Small town folks are cordial, but distant to strangers. Situations like these require an extra dose of sociality and constant conversation interjections. I had to flash my charm and, even then, I was basically ignored.

Two small children helped me pack my bike and I gave them a ribbon each. The girl had a sweet smile and a sparkling personality. I told her that she could do the impossible, if she put her mind and heart to it. She understood instantly. I secretly wished her a beautiful adventurous life. She was six years old.

Everyone warmed up to me as I was leaving. We took a picture and the men took turns trying out my bike. I waved goodbye as I headed back down the gravel road to Route 40.

The day was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. But deceptive nonetheless. A light but persistent wind met me head-on. It made the ultra long uphill ultra difficult. I ended up walking Tioca for many many kilometers.

As I came to the crest of the uphill, my jaw dropped. Snow capped mountains peaked over the ridge. I overflowed with happiness and proceeded to commence my downhill coasting. The air was icy cold and within no time, my gloved fingers were numb. The mountains drew closer. I welcomed the change in landscape. Arid rolling hills are beautiful. But snow tipped mountains are gorgeous.

A few kilometers from Chos Malal, a road-bike cyclist was training. He pulled up next to me and we chatted. My laid back attitude of peaceful meandering tends to surprise everyone.

Perhaps it seems to you, dear reader, that I have a planned route with a planned time frame. I assure you that I don’t. There is nothing concrete about this trip, but the city streets. Everything is fluid. Many decisions are made in the moment depending on weather and current personal preference. My direction is north-ish. My schedule is when I feel like it. And my destination is when I don’t feel like traveling anymore. The moment I stop having fun is the moment I end this trip. Period.

Many people have a hard time wrapping their head around it. I did too, at first.

Chos Malal, once only a name and a dot on a map, is now a real tangible place in my memory bank account. A small town-city full of smiling friendly people who greet you on the street. But at the same time, it keeps me on edge.

I arrived to the sunny central plaza with a cellphone contact in my pocket. And before long I was invited inside and surrounded by truck drivers. I served mate and they gave me a bed and a milanesa dinner.

I’m not sure why truck drivers have such a bad reputation. Perhaps there are some bad ones out there, but the ones I tend to meet are the super friendly super hospitable super gentlemanly. Sure, they can be rough around the edges, but you would be too if you worked irregular hours driving big machinery and hauling heavy cargo. They have never made me feel uncomfortable in any way. And, in fact, they go out of their way to treat me well. Maybe I’m just lucky.

But they snore. And eat a lot of fast food. And keep unconventional schedules. But they trustingly leave me the key to their apartment, so I can sleep in, drink mate and type a blogpost. No complaints from this purple shirted girl.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

back on the road. back into the countryside. sigh of relief.

I don't think I can possibly describe how amazing it is to be back on the road. All I can do is beam my brightest smile and hope that its radiance reaches you. Perhaps the subtle vibrations on the Earth’s surface inspired by my frantic leaping in joy, will cause you to pause in reflective wonder at the universe’s magic. Maybe even my best wishes will be carried to you by a ripple chain reaction of good deeds originating from me and hopefully not ending with you. Anyway, I hope I got the point across. I’m in a good mood.

You may be surprised to find out that I have left Zapala. After about a month of building friendships and sharing moments, I have said great-bye and all-the-best to countless of amazing people. People who opened their hearts and homes to me. I am forever grateful.

But I can’t say that it was hard to say goodbye, I am very much overjoyed to be back on the road. Because of the ash-situation in Zapala, I hitchhed a ride with firecracker Marianoli. It’s not that I’m paranoid of inhaling ashes, it’s just that I’d prefer not to. So I rode the 53 km to Las Lajas in luxury. Hearing about the history of the land whizzing past my window and sharing my stories.

In Las Lajas, I had a contact. A friend of a friend. Which is more or less the way I roll these days. Carlitos lives at the crossroads in a little ski equipment rental cabin. The cabin was electricity-less and wood-stove heated. The way I like it. The cabin was tidy and had a jaw-dropping view of the snow topped Andes.

After three nights and two days making myself at home in the small everyone-knows-everyone-else town, going on short bike rides and long walks, and eating hand made morcilla-filling with my fingers… I was ready to leave. I packed up Tioca for the first time in over a month, said goodbye, and left.

The day was cool, cloudy and perfect. The road was exactly what the witchdoctor ordered. My body needed the exercise, my mind needed the open landscape, and my heart needed a reason to beat. The wind was everywhere, inconsistent, irrational and confused. The rolling hills hypnotized me as I smiled in content consent.

That night found me seated by a humble fire on the dirt floor of a humbler shelter, up a sandy dirt road, off of Route 40. It was cold. Much like the first impressions around here. Country folks always keep you at a distance at first. They need to figure you out. They offer you mate, torta frita, and a place by the fire. Slowly you warm up to them with your questions, your answers, and your smile. Then they warm up to you, like the heat of the fire sneaking up to your skin. Or like the sweet mate they hand you, warming your belly.

The elderly couple and their son let me sleep on their kitchen floor. A highly prized place to sleep. At least I had four walls and a roof. The cold air slithered in through the gaping holes, but at least I wasn’t outside. It gets cold, very cold, these days. The house was modest. No heating, no running water, no electricity, and one kerosene lamp. I had a fractioned carcass and a calendar honoring a religious saint as wall decorations. I was so grateful for this humble family to offer me everything. It’s amazing how those who have few material possessions, offer you everything they have.

The next morning, there was movement before the sun was even up. I blinked the sleepies out of my eyes and joined the mate round heading clockwise around the small crackling fire. The goats were bahbah-ing and head butting. The chickens were squawking. And, yes, the rooster cockle-doodle-dooed early early early in the morning. As I packed my bike, Consuelo handed me a bag of torta fritas for the journey. I thanked them with some chocolates, but they felt so insignificantly small compared to the hospitality I had received. They offered for me to stay another night. I thanked them for everything, but the trip must go on!

That day was a long day. Well... not really, but it felt like it. I knew I had to get to Chorriaca because, well, winter’s breath is painfully cold. I didn't necessarily like that obligation. The sky was cloudy. The flat arid landscape bored me. My body was tired. My legs didn’t want to go any farther. I saw the town from afar… but no matter how much I pedaled, it didn’t seem to be getting any closer. I tried singing to pass the time. Then ate a few torta fritas. Then talked a bit to myself. I rested plenty. And, of course, I lost myself in my thoughts.

I arrived via bumpy dirt road to the heart of the small town. Not only was it a Sunday, but also Fathers’ Day. I wasn’t expecting anything to be open. When I saw an open door, I jumped off the bike. I walked up and asked politely for hot water. I fielded the typical curious questions, my origin, my destination, my age, and wasn’t I scared to travel by myself? And, in turn, I asked them mine: did they know of any roof to sleep under? They glanced at each other nervously. No one wanting to be the first to jump to help this strange stranger from a strange place. Can you blame them?

Someone mentioned that the salón had a mattress, so I walked to the house, explained my story, and was given permission to spend the night. Success!

Fabiola, the radio woman, invited me over to the radio studio for mates. I am not one to turn down an opportunity to share mates and meet new people. I served mates while Guillermina talked on air.

I was wary at first by her religiousness; I didn‘t really want to have the god-talk with her. I have learned to try to dodge questions about my faith because I find it too difficult to explain. In any language. I believe what I believe. And I hope it is reflected in how I live. I don’t like to have to explain myself and I really don‘t like when people are condescending, pitying, or preachy.

Luckily that topic wasn’t touched. Her story, however, was inspiring. I listened intently, absorbing this woman’s strength through her words. I won’t related the whole thing here, but the moral of the story is:

1. Be a good person
2. Forgive and accept others
3. Never give up; there is always a solution even if you have to struggle for it.

That night I slept curled up near the smoky warmth of a wood-burning stove. Dreaming of far away lands and savoring the memories of far away friends.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

I've been rather cranky lately.

I think it's the weather. The novelty excitement of the ash-grey cloudy sky has worn off. The volcano is no longer amusing. I don't like breathing through my scarf. I don't like to worry about inhaling potentially lung-damaging material. I miss being outside. I miss the sun. I miss the blue sky. I miss the fresh air.

And most of all I miss biking. '

For the first few days, I made the most of my indoor confinement. Dedicating long hours to awkwardly strumming the guitar, decorating more wine-box wallets, reaching the high notes, cooking, and staring longingly out the window.

Then I got tired of this waiting game. I settled down in a moody funk and immersed myself in solitude and self-pity. I did nothing. A whole lot of nothing... And I hardly ever do nothing.

The weather didn't help. The lack of outdoor activities, fresh air, exercise, sunlight, and moonlight all contributed. I let it all build up and up and up... until...

I made a decision.

I decided that this journey must continue. I have two options: stay put and feel sorry for myself or go. And the first option isn't really an option. Furthermore, I'm the only one who can hotwire this adventure back into existence. No one is going to come do that for me. So, I decided to wipe the volcanic powder out of my eyes and shake off this negativity. And started saying my goodbyes.

I said goodbye to the city of Zapala. Thanking it for everything it had offered me. Acknowledging that this little dusty windy city is way more hospitable than it appears. For some reason I have stayed for about a month. That reason is the people. The amazing people. Thanks to all of them.

(More pictures to come when I get a better internet connection...)

I said goodbye to Agustín (and Maxy and Vanessa and Agustín's parents...).



I said goodbye to Vero (and Juan Carlos, Manuel, Brian, Kevin, Lois, Nora, the dogs, the horses, Piwi, and the sheep).




I said goodbye to Susana (and Quique and Matias).



I said goodbye and thank you. When people open up their hearts, take you in, and spoil you with hospitality... you treasure them forever.

So, where am I going???? I mean, hello, there are still volcanic ashes everywhere. Is biking really an option??

There's only one way to find out.

After much debate and many third party opinions... I've decided to take my chances with Route 40. Hopefully I can outbike the ashes, at least until Chos Malal. From there I'll try my luck flagging down four-wheeled motorized transportation into the Province of Mendoza. Plans subject to change. But for now, I'm sticking to them...!

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Succumbing to publicity...


Almost everyone I know will agree that, when given the opportunity, I will talk. And talk. And talk.

And when given the opportunity to talk on a TV program, I will accept.

I've uploaded my 20 minutes of fame to youtube in two parts. It's in Spanish, so whip out that dictionary and brush up on your Castellano! Enjoy!


Sucumbiendo a la publicidad... (Castellano)

Casi todos que me conocen ya saben que, cuando me dan la oportunidad, hablo. Y hablo. Y hablo.

Y cuando me dan la oportunidad de hablar en un programa de televisión, la voy a aceptar.

Subí mis 20 minutos de fama a youtube en dos partes. Está en castellano!! Disfrútenlo!

Saturday, June 11, 2011

The past week... Neuquén style!

It was a beautiful Zapala day. Out of the blue, I got a call from Juanjo. The phone line almost errupted in excitement! I wasn't sure I heard right. They wanted me to do an interview for a TV station in Neuquén? What?! Even though it meant postponing my trip for yet another week, there was absolutely no chance I would decline.

Monday meant meat truck transportation to Neuquén for my Tuesday interview. As I waited for the truck to arrive, I stepped outside. Snow, I thought, as white flakes danced down from the cloudy sky. I caught a few on my hand. But they didn't melt. I brushed them off, and they left a grey streak. Ash!

Yes, a few days prior Volcano Puyehue had errupted and dumped ash all over my beloved Bariloche. Closing the airport, confining people to their homes to concoct end-of-the-world theories, and blanketing the city. On Monday the ash arrived to Zapala.

And in fact the ash cloud followed me to Cutral Co and even to Neuquén. Word has it that it has shut down airports as far away as Buenos Aires and Brazil! Nuts.

On Tuesday, Juanjo and I arrived at the TV studio. I was super excited.

I met Cata and Cristian in the studio and waited patiently for my turn.


I made friends with the makeup artist and the security guard. Then before I knew it: lights-camera-BIKE, I was on live TV!



It flew by! I maybe said half the things I wanted to mention. But I loved it! I am in the process of uploading the video to YouTube. Hang in there, tomorrow I hope to have it up and running!

And of course the interview ended by Juanjo whispering to the producer that I liked to sing. And so it was thus announced on air. Flustered, I denied it. And avoided the topic until the comercial break.

Cata mentioned that she was scheduled to sing at a bar the next day, and invited us along. We arrived fashionably late and sat at the bar sipping Fernet and Cola from straws.

Surprise! Cata announced through her microphone that for her next song, yes, yours truly would be accompanying her. Yikes. I shuffled my way to the stage.

After a few words, some applause, and a thorough throat-clearing... the music began.

We sang Alanis Moressette's "Hand in my pocket" and got a standing ovation! So much fun.

Neuquén, as always, proved to be a great time. Lots of Fernet, scowering the city for a used guitar, truco battles, good food, unexpected blackouts, and a healthy dose of eye-stinging and lung-burning ash.

Rafa and Gustavo, my truckdriving buddies, let me bum a ride with them for the third time. Again, they didn't let me pay for food, they gave me a goodhumored hardtime for my lifestyle choice, and they even bought a wine-box wallet each! I think that officially makes me a professional Artesan. Gracias chicos por toda la buena onda!!

So here I am, yet again, in Zapala. The weather has gotten wintry cold. I'm eager to get north, but sad to leave this place. So many wonderful people have made this pit stop amazing. It'll be tough to pedal away.

Coming soon... recordings of my TV and radio interviews!!